


μετάνοια

by vivianne_leigh



Category: BioShock
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Child Death, Flash Fic, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 05:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12102120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianne_leigh/pseuds/vivianne_leigh
Summary: The back of her throat tastes like thunder.It's a heavy, syrupy taste with metallic hints to it, like electricity warming the air before a lighting strike.(Or, a look into what Brigid Tenenbaum survived in the months after Rapture's fall, before she started her safe house for the Sisters. Takes place before the events of the first game.)





	μετάνοια

The back of her throat tastes like thunder. 

 

It's a heavy, syrupy taste with metallic hints to it, like electricity warming the air before a lighting strike. Blood and dehydration, then. She's not stupid, never has been- even in the camps where they beat and starved her, spit on her,  _ used _ her like livestock alongside the other prisoners. She still knows her body enough to recognize its needs though, like where the pain is strongest, but she ignores it in favor of hurrying along, sidestepping filth and blood-choked debris. When she'd first come to Rapture and seen it lit up like fireworks and gold, she'd sworn to have the city at her feet one day. Now, clambering over a fallen support beam, she takes a moment to marvel at her poor choice of words. 

 

As if to emphasize this, something explodes in the distance, filling the air with a blast of foul smoke. 

 

This entire mess is her fault, from the ground up, so if deep bruises and a split lip are all she's being given in return, she welcomes it. She refuses to give her life, though. People have tried to take it from her, herself included- but it refuses to concede, from spite or strength she isn't sure.

 

~~ She is being selfish. ~~

 

She is surviving.

 

* * *

 

 

Out of a sick curiosity she thoroughly searches everywhere she goes- she might not be able to help the Little Sisters, not yet, but she refuses to let them be totally forgotten, even if only preserved in the memory of someone like herself. It's the least she can do. 

 

A few months ago she found a Gatherer, alone- what was left of her anyways. Brigid had glimpsed a bent wrist in the gloom, followed the limb to a pair of soft, putrefying eyes above a mouth twisted into a silent scream to a stomach cavity opened like a red,  _ gaping  _ flower- 

 

The vomit slams up her throat in a wave, sends her pitching to the floor on both knees.

 

She'd ran- not walked- her way back to her hideout after that, sliding over broken tiles and ceiling panels blindly. Once there she crashed the safe house door shut behind her and sat there, knees up to her ears, and rocked, unwilling to process what she'd seen. Her insides felt slippery, like they were unraveling in double time- as an anchor she twisted her fingers into her hair and  _ pulled _ , letting the pain drown out the emotion clawing at her heart. 

 

She drew a shaky breath, tried to focus on the space around her- the bare bed, the pipes; the faint scent of salt that hangs in the air. It worked, just enough for her to stand: she stumbles into her bed and closes her eyes, drained. 

 

She sleeps but does not dream.

 


End file.
